Diary of a Mad Editor

Archive for 2001

Sometimes I feel like Kurtz in The Heart of Darkness

“The horror! The horror!” - Mr. Kurtz

“I don’t know how you bear up so well under the pressures of incoming idiocy. I’d be ducking and have a bad back, lol.” Janet Buck, author of Calamity’s Quilt, in a message to ‘the mad editor.

You can start publishing the work of others with the best of intentions, but sooner or later, the submissions will close-in on you. The parade of egos, wannabes and idiots is endless. Sometimes, I can identify with Mr. Kurtz, the good company man who went mad in the congo in Joseph Conrad’s classic novella. And you may ask, “Why would anyone put up with this if it aggravates him so much?” The answer is simple: Unsolicited submissions are the life’s blood of any publication, whether big or small, online or offline. It is worth the aggravation of reading through thousands of bad submissions in order to find that one good piece of writing you want to publish.

Of course, you might think, “Why put yourself through that when it is easier to solicit work from a select group of writers whose work you like?”

Several reasons:

1. Even good writers aren’t immune to writing garbage. Therefore, one cannot guarantee that the material solicited will prove usable.

2. An open submission policy guarantees a steady influx of new material. You can afford to be more selective.

3. Experienced writers like to be published alongside their contemporaries and the talented beginner likes to be published alongside the known, experienced writer. Therefore, a closed submission policy is the kiss of death for any publication. It is the editor’s responsibility to find the right mix of the fresh and familiar to hold the reader’s attention and keep them coming back for more.

4. The writers themselves can prove to be your best, most loyal audience. However, they will ignore a publication if they are unable to submit to it. They recommend publications they admire.

So, if you want to publish a literary magazine or e-zine, you’d do well to open your door to unsolicited submissions. And if you are a writer — keep submitting, even if you aren’t very, because you can’t win if you don’t play and you can’t grow without taking your lumps.

Dance Around Like a Puppet but Don’t Get Caught-up in the Wires

“To write simply is as difficult as being good.” –Maugham

Isn’t it the truth? I’ve seen beginning writers (and even more experienced writers, who should know better) load their writing with all kinds of language devices because they think it sounds more poetic. In reality, it only makes the writing difficult to read and enjoy. Writing is hard, but the reader shouldn’t be able to see the work that went into it. Think I’m wrong? Then ask yourself why Hemingway sells more books dead then he did while still alive. Further, ask yourself why Proust doesn’t. It’s no great task, really, to throw in a lot of fluffy figurative language, pile one metaphor on top of another, stretch it all out like so much silly putty and plop it down on a page with such strained, affectation that the reader would swear you were giving birth to a monster. But to compress all that complexity into a simple turn of phrase that’s easily understood WITHOUT resorting to cliche? Now, that’s a major talent!

The problem is many writers are either lazy or clueless. The first draft is easy and fun, usually. Whether you are writing a poem or a long work, like a novel, you are free to fall in love with the voices in your head. You are free to go off on a tear and just lay it down. However, if you are unable or unwilling to cut the useless junk out of your piece, what you will end-up with is a mess of words your average reader will dismiss.

To me, writing simply and clearly is like putting on a puppet show. A bad puppeteer is clumsy. He mixes-up his lines and the puppet gets tangled-up in its own wires. The audience is too distracted by the puppeteer’s ineptitude to enjoy the show. Bad writing is much the same. The language may be pretty, but it’s unclear and has no reason for being there other than its apparent preciousness. The reader merely trips over the words. In a good puppet show, the audience pays attention to the performance, laughs when they are supposed to laugh and they don’t notice the puppet master or the wires the puppet is suspended from. Good writing doesn’t distract the reader with fluff.

The Bain of My Existence

from (unsigned),

“….concerning Devil Blossoms #1, you are a filthy pornographer and a Satanist and I shall pray for you that you not burn in Hellfire.” (And I shall sacrifice a virgin in your honor. Thanx for reading.)

From Wanda Rimsek,

“. . . I have a gun and I know how to use it.” (So I guess the trip to New Orleans is off?)

from (unsigned),

“Hey buttwipe, this could’ve been a letter bomb. Next time, bro.” (Dear sir or madame. Thank you for your comments. Please be careful to avoid paper cuts as all my envelopes are licked and sealed by an AIDS-infected crack-whore.)

John C. Erianne,

I was appalled to see that your response to my submission was scribbled, in a third-grader’s handwriting, on a sticky note; not to mention it was an insult. (Hmm. So, the fact that I have poor handwriting is more offensive to you than the insult? I am truly insulted.)

When I, or any other writer, send out a submission with no typographical error, in perfect format, and in a professional manner, there should be an expectation at the very least for professionalism to be requited. (There “should be” an expectation? You mean you didn’t have such an expectation? Then you shouldn’t be disappointed.) Albeit the fault was mine. I should’ve done more research on you and your e-zine. (For one thing, if you’d done more research, you might have bothered to read my guidelines as well.) How could anyone match the ingenuity of John C. Erianne? (I was just asking myself that very question.) I was unaware that you had made such literary contributions as “TO THE GUY WHO STOLE MY GIRLFRIEND,” and “STATE OF ART,” which includes such telling lines as ‘the pay really blows’ — art at its highest apex. (Why, Thank you.) I’m jarred that you actually run anything considered an editorial; (Actually, I don’t know anyone who considers me an editorial. I’m sure they have more creative names to call me.) you should personally apologize to the world of literature. (Is it all right if I just send a telegram?)Your editing and writing skills would be more in tune with correcting mistakes on memos at McDonald’s. (Does this job come with free Happy Meals?) Also, you made the comment that there weren’t enough trees to produce enough paper to explain how bad my writing was. (One man’s insult is another man’s kernel of wisdom. And, as I recall, you did ask for my opinion.) If you don’t like my writing that’s fine; tell me what’s so bad about it. You obviously lack the skills to properly criticize. (Yeah, that must be it — or maybe it was simply that I didn’t have the time to spare and I was exhausted beyond the point where I could possibly give a damn. )

You’ve become what you hate. You have filled your former teacher’s shoes well. Congratulations on your hypocrisy! (Actually, I have nothing but respect for that teacher. Why? Because he made me realize that, while he was wrong in his assumption, I hadn’t shown him anything particularly impressive. But, I eventually did impress him, and you know what? He admitted that he was wrong about me. So, Matthew, show me something truly impressive and I, too, will admit I’m wrong. Otherwise, don’t suck my air with your horseshit.)

Sincerely,

(signed)

Matthew Lee Bain

PS. You were right about one thing. In your poem “FOR A FORMER TEACHER WHO SAYS I DON’T HAVE A FEEL FOR LANGUAGE, you said ‘language is a pair of soft wet genitals’. Well that sweaty testicle sack is stuffed in your gauche mouth. (You know, you could have just sent flowers.)